Didn't Know I Cared
by Breech Loader
Summary: Butters becomes suicidal, so it's a shame that the only person around to stop him is Cartman, who cares about nobody bar himself. But is Butters really so needy, or is Cartman the one who needs help? And regardless, is anybody in a state to do anything?
1. Chapter 1

Didn't Know I Cared

By Breech Loader

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><p>Me: I wanted to make this a lemony-goodness one-shot. But I couldn't do it. So I settled on explaining what I think about Cartman's attitude – not to love, but to feeling anything at all.<p>

Most people skip to the kids being 16 or 18 but they can be doing awesome things when they're 14 too, you know. This fic is sort of Cartman/Butters but I haven't decided exactly how slashy it needs to be just yet.

Who really needs help here? The suicidal Butters... or Cartman? And will Butters even live? Will I kill Butters? Am I a bastard?

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><p>Fourteen-year-old Eric Cartman was 100% certain that he was important.<p>

You didn't have to have friends to be important. Hell, half the time friends were a fucking burden; whatever Stan and Kyle said, he knew their friendship caused more trouble for them than it was worth. They were only important to each other, which was totally gay.

The trouble was that some days – not very often, but sometimes he'd look in the mirror and wonder what it must be like to have friends, and not just a bunch of guys you hung around with who mostly hated you. And that would get him around to wanting them, if only for a little while.

He stared in the mirror for a while. He wasn't as... large... as he had been; his mother absolutely insisted that he go to the gym at least once a week. Also, when he mentally compared his portion sizes to that of a year or two ago, he imagined they were smaller. And he was pretty sure there were less snacks in the cupboards. There was muscle under the flab, which had surprised a few people when they tried to fuck with him and he had successfully broken their arms.

But even that didn't seem to help a lot.

How the hell did you _make_ friends anyway? By being nice to people? That was just stupid! He'd been nice before and people hadn't become his friends! It wouldn't be so bad if it was a 100% guarantee of getting a friend, but Cartman was pretty sure that for him there was probably more work involved.

There was Butters of course, but he didn't like Cartman much a lot of the time either. Still, if it wasn't for him, Cartman knew he'd have been totally ostracised long ago.

In any case, Butters was just... pathetic. Like a little dog, except dogs had spines. Cartman tried to imagine Butters as being brave and standing up for himself once in a while. Then he remembered that sometimes he _did_. And when he did, people _listened_.

People listened to Cartman when he gave moving speeches, mimicking Stan and Kyle's gay little things because they seemed to get somewhere, but he always felt a little bit sick inside when he made them – partly at how much people were exactly like sheep, and partly at himself, though he couldn't pin down why. How could the other guys stand it?

Some other kids thought it was cool to have a mom who let him do anything he wanted and would give him anything he wanted. And it was that too, but they didn't know what it was like for that mother to also be the slut of South Park, to have seen her doing those crazy things, to know she was so dirty and he was related to her. And he had no father. All the other kids had dads somewhere. Even the ones who were assholes were still dads.

In any case she wasn't in right now. She was probably busy being her usual slutty self. He could put himself to bed but as so often happened, he'd likely fall asleep crying.

He stopped looking in the mirror, because it was days like this that his own reflection made him want to be sick.

He could use some company.

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><p>The fourteen-year-old Butters Stotch looked at the selection of baby-proof bottles that he'd lifted from his parents' medicine cabinet, as well as the bottles he'd bought from the pharmacy to supplement them.<p>

He wasn't sure how many of them it would take for an overdose, or what exactly the results would be or anything, but he was damn sure that enough of them mixed together would surely have the desired effect.

Nobody cared about him. His mother had tried to kill him, then blamed it on 'some Puerto Rican guy', his father thought he was spineless and pathetic, even when he'd practically saved the world – or Imaginationland at least - and as for the groundings that happened on an almost weekly basis... well, he wasn't sure he could stand even one more night of being locked in the basement.

At school, things weren't much better. The boys accepted him when he put himself in to their group, but nobody ever came to him, unless it was to make fun of him. Most of the time he was left on his own, and it wouldn't be so bad, but... it was. And it was getting worse.

His blue eyes were puffy and red from the tears that kept pouring down his cheeks, but there was an unusual determination in them as he started to crush up the pills in a bowl, thinking hard. If his parents caught him doing this, they'd ground him for sure, but they were out at a town meeting and he was home alone again. And it was hard to ground a dead kid.

This was for the best, right? Of course it was; nobody would miss him, and he wouldn't cause any more trouble. When God had made him, he'd done something horribly wrong somehow; Butters wasn't sure what but he was bad, wicked, wrong. This would solve the problems of his parents, the problems of his classmates, and his own problems.

He looked in the mirror by the bed for a moment angrily. Why did he have to be so spineless all the time? Well, he wasn't going to be spineless over this.

He glared hatefully at his own reflection, before knocking the mirror off his table. Nobody understood, did they? Not understanding how hard it was to keep smiling; to set yourself the task of being the sunshine in everybody's otherwise gloomy lives.

He'd tried to deal with this already, using Professor Chaos. Somebody who didn't need to smile and be happy all the time. That had gone from wasting aerosol, to leaving hoses running, to trying to blow up the hospital – although that was mostly Cartman's fault – and then his parents had found out that Professor Chaos was starting fires. So they'd grounded him.

They'd grounded Butters. They hadn't grounded Professor Chaos.

Not that it mattered; Professor Chaos still wasn't enough to deal with all this... loneliness.

Should he leave a note? That was what people did in the movies. But he wasn't sure what he should write. After all, it wasn't like he'd even be around to see anybody read it. He tipped the crushed drugs into a large glass, then poured in a hefty dose of cough medicine. He finished by mixing in some milk, to help it all go down.

Well, should he leave a note? He thought for a moment. Maybe he should see if he wanted to write anything. He should at least say goodbye. He didn't want them to think it was some kind of accident. He picked out a pen and some writing paper and scrawled a quick note, a few tears dripping onto the paper.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he picked up the glass full of toxins, his hand shaking. This was it. No more being grounded in the basement. No more being constantly insulted and called weak. No more waking up screaming. No going back. No going back. No going back...

That was when the phone rang.

It shouldn't be an interruption, but as usual Butters had to give in to his spinelessness and answer the phone. Still holding the glass in one hand.

"Uh, hey there... who is it?"

"Butters, it's me, Cartman."

"Shucks, E-Eric? You want to talk to me?" Now that he thought about it, Cartman often wanted to see him. But on reflection, he only wanted to see him in order to play some cruel prank.

"Well yeah, dweeb. Why else would I call you? For sure I don't wanna hear you sing the entire works of _Gilbert and Sullivan_."

"Well..." Butters looked at the glass, "Gee Eric, it's after ten. My parents sure will be mad at me. I'll be grounded for sure. And I'm kinda busy with something important right now..."

"Don't be such a little dipshit, Butters. Who's more important in your life than me, your best friend?"

"Well, uh..." Butters considered this, "I didn't know you cared-"

"I'm bored. Figured I'd watch a movie or two. Why don't you come over and we'll watch it together?" On the other end of the phone, Cartman tried to sound casual, but in reality he just wanted company for a little while. Company that wouldn't try to make him feel bad. Maybe after a movie he'd mess with Butters' head a little. That might get him feeling better.

"Okay," Butters told him, "I'll be there in ten minutes, Eric!" he hung up, "Aw, hamburgers!" Why couldn't he ever say no to Eric Cartman? The guy was a jerk, honestly. But sometimes he felt like the only reliable person in Butters' life – even if it was only reliable that he would fuck him over.

He wiped the tears off his face. He could always kill himself later anyway, right?

He stared at the glass.

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><p>For once, Cartman had to open the door, what with his mom being at the town meeting. Butters was standing there, smiling as innocently as ever.<p>

"Dammit Butters, what the hell took you so long?" he asked, inviting the lanky blond in.

"Gee, sorry Eric," Butters knocked his knuckles together, "I just-"

"Oh, forget it," Cartman turned away, "I'm gonna watch 'Saw 2'. Ever heard of it, Butters?" he asked, hiding a nasty grin.

"Sure haven't, Eric. What's it about?" Butters' thick Dallas drawl rolled forward.

"It's an awesome movie, Butters. All about the will to live. You'll love it," Carman tousled Butters' hair gently. The innocent, smiling little Butters would probably wet himself watching it. He'd have nightmares for sure.

Hey, at least it was something to keep his mind off the other things.

He slotted the DVD into the machine, pulled up a tub of KFC without offering Butters any, and sprawled lazily on the couch. After a couple of seconds Butters sat down beside him.

The scenes puzzled Butters at first, although Cartman paid avid attention. They didn't seem to be seeing anything close and meaningful. They were just waking up in a horrible place and-

"OH HAMBURGERS!" Butters shrieked.

Cartman almost laughed. Butters was a real sucker; a glutton for punishment. The blond boy was already crying. Cartman doubted he had yet seen a horror movie, or even a thriller. That was why it was so funny to see the kid whimpering, occasionally covering his face with his hands, "I didn't think you'd care..." he smirked.

"I... I... I can't handle this!" Butters wailed suddenly, jumping to his feet, "Ah jeepers, I gotta go to the bathroom!" He started to rush off, and Cartman grabbed him by the wrist.

"Where're ya going', Butters?" he asked, laughing amicably, "It's just gettin' good!" He paused the movie and studied Butters, amused. The much smaller boy had grown, but he hadn't actually bulked up yet; it was more like he had _stretched_. He was incredibly lanky now. He looked like he'd been built with a collection of sticks, and he moved like he was held together with elastic bands and chewing gum.

"It's awful!" Butters' eyes kept straying back to the TV; it reminded him of the first time he'd seen The Lord Of The Rings. He couldn't bear to keep watching but he couldn't look away. With a sudden burst of energy, he twisted himself away from Cartman, "I feel... I feel kinda queasy..."

Suddenly Butters collapsed to the carpet on his hands and knees, shaking. His stomach felt like it was twisting up inside. It really hurt...

"Ay! Not on my carpet you don't!" Cartman got up and tried to move him. He was too late. Butters baulked, then throw up. There was some food, but to Cartman's surprise there was other stuff too, "Ay, what is this shit?" he snapped at Butters, looking at the puddle of food and... some sort of paste.

"I don't... I think somethin' went wrong, Eric..." Butters whimpered before throwing up again, "I just... I just..." he looked over at his coat.

Cartman's eyes narrowed and he walked over to Butters' coat. There was a piece of paper in one pocket.

_I'm sorry, everybody. It's not you, it's me. I'm a horrible person. Thanks for trying so hard. You're all good inside. All of you. Goodbye forever._

"What the fuck is this, Butters?" he asked the other boy, waving the note around.

"My... my tummy hurts..." Butters mumbled, just before he choked up some more of the paste.

"Did you... did you do something stupid, Butters?" Cartman looked down at the blond. His head was hurting. It sometimes did, when something unexpected turned up. He shouldn't need to give two shits about what happened to other people. Who the hell was he, Mother-fucking-Teresa?

It was days like this when he remembered what Stan had said to him a few years ago – _"We feel bad for other people."_

"I... ow..." Cartman clutched his head for a few seconds, before he grabbed Butters and hauled him up to eye level, "Did you try to kill yourself, Butters?" he growled at him, "DID YOU?" he shook the boy.

"Y-yeah..." tears were starting to come to Butters' wide blue eyes. His face was incredibly pale. Was it just Cartman's imagination, or was it becoming more so by the second?

Cartman grimaced. His head hurt really bad – not a physical pain, but the pain you got when you were just so _confused_. And this moment was horribly confusing. Butters wasn't _him_. Why should he care if the little pussy wanted to off himself? There had to be a reason... "WHY?" he yelled finally.

"I can't keep on... I can't keep on smiling!" Butters wailed. He turned his face away just enough to avoid throwing up all over Cartman, "It hurts too much!"

"What the _fuck_ do you mean?" Cartman almost screamed, "You smile all the fucking time! You telling me that's fake? I fake and it doesn't hurt! Why'd you keep doing it if it hurts?"

"You sure wouldn't understand, Eric!" Butters wept, "I smile for other people! But it does hurt! And it's been hurtin' a long time!"

Cartman let go of him. Butters was right; the larger boy didn't understand, "You mean like... to get other people to like you more?" he hazarded. He really hoped he was right; at least that would make a little bit of sense.

"No! Because I like seeing other people happy!" Butters replied. This was exactly the sort of thing Cartman never understood.

"Ow... ow... _ow_..." Cartman grabbed a handful of his own hair, pulling it, and looked at Butters, "But you..." Why, exactly, was he so goddamn scared right now? "You were just gonna die?" He slapped Butters across the face so hard that it left a hand-print, "How could you _do_ that to me?"

"S-Sorry..." Butters rubbed his face. His stomach still hurt, "I-"

"Yeah, you better be! Leaving me alone with stupid dumbasses and gingers and Jews..." Cartman shook him by the shoulders again, "What the hell did you _do_, ya little fag?"

"I took some pills..." Butters sniffled, "Why do you even care? You think I'm stupid..."

"I sure do!" Cartman spat, "Pills? That's a _stupid_ way to do it! You could've been dying in a hospital bed from liver failure, and then I'd have to watch you die! Don't you know a fucking thing about killing yourself?" _Why do I care? Why do I care?_ _Why _do_ I care?_ To his shock and fear, tears were rolling down his chubby cheeks, and the more scared he got, the faster they came. He grabbed Butters and threw him back on the couch.

"You care?" Butters asked.

"NO!" Cartman lied, stamping around the room, "Why _should_ I care? There's nothing you can do for me! You're replaceable! You're just a chump to hustle!" he hesitated, "...I think..."

"Eric?" Butters' misery was being temporarily staved off briefly by Cartman's obvious distress.

Cartman swung around to look at Butters again, "You can't just... can't just..." he managed. He wiped one sleeve across his face to smear away the tears, and tried to take hold of himself again.

Butters looked uncomfortable for a few seconds, "Eric, I didn't know-" Then he threw up for the third time that night.

Biting down on his lip, Cartman hated himself even more for what he did next. He actually sat down next to Butters... and wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulders. So totally faggy... "Okay, you've quit being sick now?" he checked.

"Maybe..." Butters mumbled. "I just... now I feel kinda sleepy..."

Cartman paused at that one. Butters was almost porcelain-pale now, and cold, "Oh no you don't, Butters," the large boy told him firmly, "You're not falling asleep, even if it means I have to take on the responsibility of slapping you all night. Goddammit, stay awake!"

"You... you do care then?" Butters asked.

Cartman stopped, because he wasn't sure. It was usually easy to spout off 'Of course I care' pleasantries. But now that he wasn't quite sure what response he wanted, or whether what would be said would be a lie or the truth, he was stuck, "It stinks in here, Butters," he told his slumped companion, "Come on, I got music in my room."

"Ooooh..." Butters clutched his middle, "Shucks Eric... I don't feel..."

"Quit your bitching," Cartman hauled Butters to his feet. It shouldn't be so much effort but Butters was only barely conscious, "And wake up! Shit! What the fuck did you take?" He slapped Butters again a couple of times again.

Butters tried to think straight, "I dunno, somethin' of everythin' in the cabinet... There was some... some Nembutal in there... What does it matter?"

Cartman considered this. Butters probably wasn't going to die. But Cartman couldn't imagine how horrible South Park would be if Butters wasn't in it, and he didn't like the idea of the blond dying from liver failure, or getting brain damage and winding up in a psyche ward or something, "I... I don't want you to die, Butters," he spoke with some difficulty. Expressing concern – genuine concern, anyway – had never been something he was good at, probably because he didn't feel much concern. But here he was, being concerned for Butters.

"Th-That's awful swell of ya, Eric..." Butters mumbled as Cartman started to haul him up the stairs.

"Yeah, well when you come around properly you're gonna explain a few things to me, Butters," Cartman told him, dragging him up the last few steps.

"L-like what?" Butters asked.

Cartman stopped there. He had questions. But he didn't know how to ask them. He wasn't even sure they were the right questions, "Look, just don't fall asleep on me, okay?" he told Butters, "For once, I actually want to _hear_ you talking."

"Thanks for not wanting me to die... I didn't know you cared..." Butters paused, "I still wanna die though," he added after a few seconds.

Cartman's eyes widened, "You mean you're gonna try again?" he asked, feeling a strange combination of anger and fear rise up inside of him. The feeling got bigger when he watched Butters shrug without committing himself. He'd never had a proper relationship. Girls weren't his thing, and they weren't interested in him much either. On the other hand, it wasn't like he'd ever looked at any guys either. People were background. Sometimes they were tools. But he'd never seen others as being potential lovers.

The full implications of what he was thinking started to rise up in his brain.

"Weak..." he said finally.

"What's weak?" Butters asked, lying almost ashen-faced on top of the sheets.

Cartman gave it a few seconds, feeling Butters' inquisitive eyes on him, "It doesn't matter whether any chicks like me or not. Because I don't like girls," he growled finally, looking down, "But before you ask... I don't like guys either. They don't make me... feel anything. It's like I'm numb..." he hesitated, "I... I do look at magazines. I get hard. I cum. But... I don't know that I really... _feel_ anything."

"Boy-howdy, Eric... that must suck..." Butters commented. Being sick all those times had brought up most of the pills but he still felt ill. And tired. He struggled to sit up, and it almost got him out of breath until Cartman pulled him up roughly.

"Sucks donkey-balls," Cartman confessed, "I hate when I'm not sure about some shit. And I don't... don't _feel_. Except when you came in and nearly died. I felt stuff. Like I hardly ever..." he stopped and narrowed his eyes, "But I'm not gay!"

Butters looked distant, "Must suck, not to feel anything..." he repeated to himself. On a whim, he darted forward and hugged Cartman as tightly as he could manage, expecting at any moment a punch in the face. When it wasn't Cartman's instant reaction, he spoke again, "I mean, I went and... tried to... because of feelin' too much. But not feelin' must suck too. You feel anything now?"

Cartman hesitated. But he was feeling something. Not turned on. Or how he imagined most people felt when they were turned on. But _something_, "A little..." he admitted.

Butters pulled away again, "That's better'n feelin' nothing, right?" he checked, starting to lie down again.

Cartman hesitated, and took Butters' hand. It was colder than ever. And Butters... well, Butters was paler than ever, despite speaking and the tight hug. If he'd been asleep; if it weren't for that slow pulse, Cartman might have assumed him dead. But despite that, it was like something had for once touched him inside. Whether it was anger, fear, concern or even affection, he got those feelings so rarely that it always felt like a big deal when he did get them... and in a few short minutes, Butters had provided them all...

He wasn't sure what he felt exactly, but he knew he couldn't feel it without Butters sitting there, no matter how much he currently looked like death warmed up.

"Butters... Next time you try to kill yourself..."

"Uh-huh?" Butters asked quietly.

"Check with me first, okay?" Cartman stood up with a resolve he hadn't felt in a couple of years. He grabbed Butters' arm and started to pull him up too, "Now come on. You look like shit; we gotta get you to the hospital. Get your stomach pumped or something."

"I didn't know you cared..."

"Neither did I."

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><p>Me: So review, okay? I might actually continue this chapter if a few people think it's worth continuing, because I have a few ideas. Anyway, it looks like Cartman needs Butters a lot more than Butters needs Cartman... will it stay that way if I do continue?<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Didn't Know I Cared

By Breech Loader

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><p>Me: Originally in chapter one, there were a lot of '?' combined with '!'. But I'm sure most of you know how much Fanfiction dot net hates those and takes out the '!' so you can't exclaim a question. It kinda spoiled how scared and angry Cartman was.<p>

Anyway, I was hoping for more reviews commenting on quality, but hey, got it under control.

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

Cartman looked at Butters, lying in the bed. He'd caught a taxi to the hospital and practically carried the other boy in. And then Butters had thrown up, passed out on the floor, thrown up again, and starting spazzing out, right before he had been taken away on a trolley. Cartman had convinced them that he was Butters' half-brother, so he'd been allowed to watch as they'd pumped Butters' stomach and then hooked him up to a bunch of machines.

Not that he cared.

Or at least, he shouldn't feel a _need_ to care.

He didn't know the numbers of Butters' parents' cell-phones, so he'd called back to their home and left a message. They must have been nearly home though, because they'd arrived in a hurry, with Mrs Stotch screaming and sobbing as soon as she saw Butters.

That had been two hours ago, and Cartman had to admit, the blond did look pretty awful. Not actually as bad as Cartman had seen him when Butters had collapsed into his own vomit, but still terrible. Still chilly and pale. Hooked up to an intravenous drip and dozens of wires. The doctors had said something about his blood-pressure being too low and the massive attempt at an overdose meaning they couldn't risk using more medication.

Perhaps worst of all was that Butters wouldn't wake up. The doctors said he was in a coma – that his current reactions probably meant he'd wake up in a couple of days, but for now, they'd done all they could and the rest was up to God.

Lazy bastards.

"Eric?" Cartman looked up at Mrs Stotch, "We want to thank you for saving our little boy Butters' life. If it weren't for you he might be dead by now..." she blew her nose, "You're a little hero, Eric…"

"Yeah, well..." Cartman did his best to look and sound 'modest', "I'm no hero, ma'am. Any decent person would've done it."

"No, but you were so brave, not panicking. And you didn't do anything silly, like try and cover it up or put him to bed for a rest or call an ambulance..."

"Aw, Mrs Stotch..." Well, he was damn good at taking charge of things. Especially people. Cartman's ego was quick to convince him that it had been deliberate, rather than instinct or luck.

"When he wakes up, he is going to be so grounded!" Mr Stotch snapped.

Cartman looked at Stephen Stotch for a few seconds, keeping his expression carefully blank. He was pretty sure that if _he_ had Butters' parents - calm and friendly on the outside, controlling psychopaths on the inside - it'd be them or him. And of course Butters wouldn't have the guts to slit his parents' throats in their sleep.

Right now though, he was only here while he waited for his mom to pick him up, listening with half-an-ear to Butters' parents begging him to wake up when the skinny bond probably wasn't going to come around for days. If he even lived; the doctors were still hanging a question mark over that one too.

What he didn't get was why Butters would want to kill himself. Cartman had no intention of ever killing himself; there was always something you could do to somebody to make things better. Just thinking about the why of it made his head hurt all over again.

He looked over at Butters again, his mousy blond hair spread over the pillow. The hospital bed served to make him look more lanky and skinny than ever. Weak and helpless too. Cartman was one of those people who despised weakness even as he exploited it - even though he would always shy away from a show of strength – but for whatever reason seeing Butters that way... well, it didn't make him hate the blond. Instead he again felt that fear. Which didn't make sense because why should you be afraid of some kid in a coma?

He really wished Butters would just... wake up. Then he could ask him these questions. Hell, he'd have asked them anyway, awake or not, but that Butters' parents were there.

Stan or Kyle might be able to explain these things, but he was certain Kyle would just take advantage, and Stan would tell Kyle. He couldn't trust them. The only person he could trust was Butters. Who might not even wake up. Sure, the doctor said he would but that was probably just bullshit to try and shut up his bitching parents.

Cartman hated hospitals. They reminded him of a lot of bad things, perhaps most notably the time one of his kidneys had been stolen from him to give to Kyle. Kidneys were _important_.

He couldn't look at Butters after thinking that. And he couldn't explain why not.

But he didn't want the smaller boy to die.

Linda Stotch had gone back to Butters' bedside, and she was still crying noisily. It was getting on Cartman's nerves. He stared hard at his feet. Right now they were the only thing in this room that wasn't annoying, scaring or confusing hm.

Just thinking about all that unexpected... concern... back at his house confused him. He hated feeling confused almost as much as he hated being wrong, and he hated being wrong almost as much as he hated Jews, and he hated Jews almost as much as he hated Hippies-

"Oh god! Stephen! Get the doctor!"

The scream snapped Cartman out of his haze, and he looked over at the bed. Without warning, Butters had entered another seizure. Linda Stotch had been holding his pale hand, and was now shouting in pain as his hold randomly tightened and released on her, his nails digging in.

Cartman would have laughed. Except he didn't feel much like laughing right now. She managed to wrench her hand away. It was actually bleeding where Butters' nails had broken the skin.

The doctors surrounded Butters, and Cartman was glad of that. It was horrible enough that he had to look. He forced himself to study a fascinating mark on the wall, but he couldn't stop hearing it.

"He just threw up again!"

"This time there's black blood in it - he's vomiting right to the pit of his stomach. He must have absorbed some of the medication he overdosed on."

"Just keep his air passage free, the seizure will pass..."

Cartman covered his ears tightly, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know. He'd never known that giving a shit could hurt so much. But now he couldn't stop.

After almost five minutes he couldn't stand it any more. He looked up again and took his hands away from his ears cautiously. The crazy bustle had stopped, but when he looked at Butters, the blond looked even paler than ever. He'd stopped seizing up but now there were spots of blood around his mouth. Cartman looked away quickly.

"Poopsikins?" Cartman looked up at his mother in surprise. He wondered why she'd taken so long, "How's my brave little hero doing?"

"Fine, fine," Cartman drawled, "Mom..." he looked over at Butters, who was now lying so still that he might actually be dead. At least his mom could be trusted with a few of his secrets, "I... I don't _feel_ like much of a hero right now..." he admitted quietly.

"Aw..." Liane Cartman gave her son a hug, "Poor baby. Would you feel better if we went to the toy store tomorrow and got you a mecha-toy?"

Cartman hesitated, "Yeah?"

"Okay hun," Liane stood up, "Now let's get back home! I know my little boy must be all tired out! Say goodnight to your friend Butters..."

Cartman looked at the unconscious blond, "Why?" he asked his mother, "It's not like he can hear me. He's comatose, remember?"

"You never know," Liane prompted her son again, "Go on; it's no effort to be nice!"

"Night, Butters..." Cartman sighed, feeling like an idiot, "Get well soon, okay?"

Butters didn't stir.

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><p>Me: I know this chapter's a lot shorter than the first. It would have had some of the next day in it, but that would've been a little stupid.<p>

So, the next day comes next chapter, but on the plus side we know that it'll be continued for a while, eh? Please review; say what you think, huh? Butters will be coming around (or at least being more aware) real soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Didn't Know I Cared

By Breech Loader

**Note:** Sorry about the delay and such, blah blah blah…

Chapter Three

The news passed around the school like chickenpox; the reason Butters was not at school today was because he had tried to commit suicide last night. There were a million and one rumours, ranging from him being dead, to it not being suicide and somebody having poisoned him or something.

His absence was strangely telling. People didn't look for Butters, but when he wasn't there, they began to notice – not all at once, but in ones and twos the students were starting to comment on it. Perhaps it was because he was so prone to walking alone that more people noticed he was gone, instead of just one close group.

Mr Mackey looked at the collection of 13 and 14 year olds, "Now, I know you're all very worried about Butters, m'kay... and I'm here to talk about teenage depression and attempted suicide with... Willy Jump, the Worry-Free Wildcat."

Stan looked up, "Wait, it's a wildcat this time? What the hell does a wildcat have to do with depression?" Through puberty, Stan had grown a lot. He was well-muscled like Cartman, but without the pudginess. He was trying to grow a cool little goatee too, although according to Cartman's observations it currently looked like there was a dead rat nesting on his face.

A guy in a wildcat costume walked in, and the kids watched in bemusement, "Willy Jump, or won't he? That's the question, kiddies!" he spoke through the costume, his voice slightly muffled.

"What the fuck is it with grown-ups and dumbass animal mascots?" Kyle asked. He was tall now; the tallest of any of them, and he was shaving so that he didn't have any stubble although most of the other boys insisted it was just for show.

"(Maybe somebody had a sexual fantasy?)" Kenny suggested, his voice muffled by his parka. He was almost as skinny as ever; not the stretched lankiness of Butters, but the general skinniness of the Poor Kid whose parents had a pretty tight food budget. And of all the boys in the class, he was the one who _really_ needed to shave right now; except his father had forgotten to pay the water bill again and it had been turned off for a few days. Still, the stubble attracted the girls like he was Don freakin' Juan.

"This is Butters' fault," Cartman said simply, "If he hadn't tried to kill himself we wouldn't have to listen to some dumbass lecture about bullshit... _We_ don't need a Worry-Free Wildcat; _he's_ the one who's fucked in the head."

"Who here has ever felt sad, or lonely, or angry, or like they didn't really feel like life was worth living? Did you ever feel like you don't really matter?" Willy asked, "Hands up!"

The class filled with teenagers looked at each other. All the kids in the class put their hands up hesitantly.

"Most nights, I fall asleep crying," Craig pointed out dryly.

"Well, that's called depression, and it's very common in teenagers," Willy Jump told them, "That's why your poor friend Butters tried to hang himself-"

"Ay, dumbass! It was an overdose!" Cartman snapped before he even thought about it, "If you're gonna talk about Butters, you could at least stop pretending you give a shit!"

"(I didn't know he cared,)" Kenny muttered to Kyle.

"He probably _doesn't_ care," Kyle returned softly. To imagine that Cartman could give a crap about anybody other than himself would throw his whole world upside-down.

"He's a hypocrite," Stan said, not even lowering his voice.

The mascot was stalled for a moment, but got right back on form quickly enough, like reading from a script, "That's why some kids dress up as Goths, or try to get attention by indulging in dangerous activities."

"Dude, I'm not sure that's quite how it works-" Stan started. The Goth kids in the class looked kind of pissed off at the mascot. They were miserable bastards, but they weren't _depressed._

"Hey, do you have a Mascot's Degree in Depression?" Willy asked him, "No? Then sit down!" He continued, "Now some kids get so worried and sad because they feel like they don't fit in, or there's a lot of pressure in their lives..."

"Or because their parents are insane," Kyle muttered to Stan.

"And then they might try to hurt themselves. They even might try to kill themselves, with knives or guns or pills," Willy continued, oblivious, "And you really don't want anybody committing suicide, because that's a sin just like murder, and they'll go to Hell for it."

"Jesus Christ," Stan groaned. Once again the Education System was barging ahead with religion.

"Being sad doesn't mean you'll always try to kill yourself," Willy told them, "But ways to tell if a friend of yours is sad enough to kill themselves is that they might eat too much, or stop eating, they might want to sleep all the time, or them might hardly ever sleep, they're listless and lack drive, or they may be angrier than usual, they might lose interest in doing anything with you or they might want to do lots of extreme sports or other dangerous activities where they're likely to get injuries. If they've made up their minds to try, they may change from seeming depressed, to acting calm and happy. And of course, they might have tried suicide before."

The kids groaned softly as a collective. Stan knew for a fact that Butters had appeared perfectly normal in the last few weeks, right up to the point where he'd ended up overdosing on pills and ending up in a hospital in a coma. Even unconscious though, he was probably better at explaining suicidal depression in teens than this idiot mascot.

"Now, we're going to look at pictures of depressed people, so that you can learn to identify them when you see them," Willy told them.

The class groaned louder.

After more than an hour of looking at pictures of depressed people – and of Cartman complaining loudly that he couldn't see the difference between any of them - Willy had finally switched to images of "Horrible ways to kill yourself."

A younger Cartman would have laughed at the pictures. Most of them were violent, bloody and painful. Some of them were extremely stupid. It occurred to him that if Butters had seen this, he might already be dead because he'd have known how to do it more quickly.

"This is so lame," Stan complained, "It's even worse than Sexual Harassment Panda."

"Yeah, and isn't it kinda late for all this anyway?" asked Kyle, "I mean, Butters already tried to kill himself, and he failed. He's gonna be on fucking Suicide Watch now."

"I don't know about you guys," Cartman told them, "But whatever that cat says, I'm not gonna try and kill myself."

But finally, mercifully, the lecture ended come lunchtime. Anybody who hadn't been depressed before the lecture was certainly depressed now. They filed out of the classroom, and the boys grouped together to talk.

"You know, even though that Wildcat's been bitching at us for most of the morning, I still don't think I ever would have seen Butters trying to kill himself," Stan pointed out.

"Me neither," Cartman agreed, "He always seemed fine to me."

"That's because _you_ can't ever tell if somebody's hurting," Kyle pointed out, "And if you see it, you laugh at it."

"And I suppose you saw it coming from a mile off, eh Kyle?" Cartman's eyes narrowed, "You are the smartest kid in the class, Kyle. Why didn't you do something to stop him, Kyle? Did it satisfy your sick pleasures to watch him sink into a pit of misery while the rest of us remained oblivious, Kyle?"

"Shut up, Cartman," Stan told him, grabbing Kyle's sleeve to stop him from hitting Cartman, "This is serious."

Kyle ignored him, "Well, I think it's real convenient that Butters got sick at your house, Cartman. Exactly where he needed to be for you to 'save' him and look like a hero to half the school. Was it really attempted suicide, or did you spike his drink as part of one of your sick plans?"

Cartman had no idea why he did what he did next. But he punched Kyle in the face hard, making him stagger back. Stan and Kyle both looked surprised, and he was pretty sure that _he_ looked surprised too.

Stan looked at Eric Cartman, biggest asshole in the school, who was staring at his fist like he'd never seen it before. Oh, they'd gotten into fights before, but while he knew Kyle had insulted Cartman, it didn't seem like it was the sort of thing Cartman would normally get pissed about.

"So anyway," he held onto Kyle and tried to continue as if nothing had happened, because Cartman was still looking at his fist absently and if Kyle had gone in to hit him back, probably wouldn't have even noticed, "Me, Kyle and Kenny are gonna go see Butters in the hospital after school. Want to come?"

"Hmmm?" Cartman looked up. Why had he hit Kyle? Kyle was always getting at him and it was usually only annoying when he said something about him being fat. Of course, sometimes he insulted him by calling his mom a slut. But then he'd suggested Cartman actually planned for Butters to try and kill himself... or something... and it had suddenly sparked off an angry train of thought.

He'd never cared so much about somebody questioning his... morality.

"I said, we're going to visit Butters, are you going to come?" Stan repeated louder.

Cartman thought about it. Thought about seeing Butters in that hospital bed again, hooked up to a bunch of machines. And hearing that sickening repetitive noise, 'beep, beep, beep,' rattling on.

"No," he said firmly.

"Cartman, remember when Kenny got muscular dystrophy?" Stan asked, "I couldn't bear to see him like that, so I didn't go to see him. And then it turned out that I couldn't see him at all. I thought I'd never see him again. Ever."

"Kenny's right here," Cartman pointed out, "He came back, remember?"

"(Yeah, but it took months! You guys thought I was dead for real!)" Kenny interrupted, "(Besides, Butters isn't immortal, you dumb fuck. If _he_ doesn't wake up... that's it for him.)"

"What the hell's the point, anyway?" Cartman asked him, "Butters won't be waking up for days. He won't be able to talk. You'll just be talking to a vegetable. Which means he hasn't changed much from being awake." He chuckled nastily and looked at them, as if expecting them to find his joke funny.

Stan, Kyle and Kenny looked at each other, "You wouldn't understand why people go to see people even when they aren't awake," Stan told him.

"(Or even when they _are_ awake,)" Kenny pointed out.

"You don't understand why anybody would do something that isn't totally selfish," Kyle agreed.

"I understand... that Butters is a waste of time whether he's awake or asleep," Cartman snapped, "I hate hospitals. I'm not wasting my time there, and if you're smart, you won't either."

**Note:** If Willy Jump seems like an unhelpful moron, it's because he is.


	4. Chapter 4

Didn't Know I Cared

By Breech Loader

* * *

><p>Me: I know I didn't finish the story properly, but I'm on this THING where I feel this need to deal with my old chapters. Also, I've been kind of sick too.<p>

I wrote, or started writing this, while thinking about a time in my life when I was SO FUCKING MISERABLE. I wanted to kill myself. And then after I told somebody that I wanted to kill myself, the motherfucker had the wastrel qualities to say "God, you're weak", for being suicidal. Assmunch.

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Stan looked at Butters. The blond was, as Cartman had predicted, still unconscious. And he was hooked up to a couple of machines; the ECG, the drip, and an oxygen mask over his pale face. His parents had gone home to sleep, which showed just how much of a shit they gave about him.

"He looks like shit," Kyle said finally.

Stan mentally agreed. They'd seen Butters in hospital before and he hadn't looked this bad, even after a savage attack from Trent Boyett, "So he's 'stable'," he said gloomily, "How fucking useless is that? Dead is stable!" He remembered he'd gone through some major misery a few years ago. Thank god he'd gotten over it and things had gone back to normal, but he still remembered it as being six of the most miserable months of his life.

"I can think of plenty of reasons I'd want to die if _I_ was living Butters' life," Kyle commented, "I just... never even considered that _he_ might do it," he sat down next to the bed. He felt dumb talking to somebody who probably couldn't hear him and certainly couldn't talk back, just like Cartman had predicted, "Butters, thanks to you we had the dumbest ever mascot come in and tell us bullshit about depression in teenagers. And you know what? I figure everybody in the fucking world is depressed and they're all going to kill themselves in like, twenty minutes. At least according to Willy Jump, the Worry-Free Wildcat."

"What're you doing, Kyle?" Stan asked him.

"I'm just... telling him what happened at school today," Kyle explained. He continued to Butters, "I don't know if we should have seen this coming but it's kind of... I dunno... You know, people _did_ notice you were gone."

"And meeting Willy Jump meant we missed a history lesson _and_ Algebra," Stan continued, "So you need to wake up so that we can thank you properly."

"(Do you think he can hear us?)" Kenny mumbled. He poked Butters gently. The blond didn't stir. _All this immortality and I can't give even a little bit of it to help others,_ Not for the first time Kenny cursed his state of immortality. He had seen Heaven, and he had seen Hell, although he'd never been allowed to stay long in either one. And he did fear dying. Ever since he'd had muscular dystrophy and died for ages, he'd been scared that maybe he only had a finite number of lives, and they couldn't be wasted.

And God but he hated hospitals. Hated them with every breath in his body. Part of him felt fine about Butters being there; he was certain that the kid would get into heaven now that non-Mormons were allowed in, and _he'd_ be able to stay there. On the other hand, he'd never see him again. Well, maybe in passing...

"(Butters, you're a good friend...)" he murmured, taking the other blond's slim hand and squeezing it, "(Don't give up just yet...)"

Was it pure imagination, or misguided hope, or did Butters just-

"AY!" a loud, obnoxious voice rang out through the room. The three of them turned to the door. Cartman was standing there, bloated with self-importance and fat, "What're you guys doing here? You said you weren't coming to see Butters!"

Kyle caught hold of himself, "No, _you_ said you weren't coming to see Butters. Then you said that if we were smart we wouldn't bother either. It's just that not everybody thinks as selfishly as you do."

Cartman ignored him, hovering in the doorway, not sure whether to leave again now that the others were here. He didn't want them to think he was weak. Eventually though, he came in and took a seat, just watching.

He hated this. Listening to Stan, Kyle and Kenny just talking to Butters like the kid could hear them. But he also... hated the way they felt they were allowed to show their weaknesses and he knew better. He'd wanted to be the one to talk to Butters. He couldn't ask the others, but he could ask Butters. All the better that he couldn't answer back. He couldn't ask with them in the room. But maybe if they went away...

"Guys, he's not gonna wake up just because you're talking," he rasped.

"(Unlike you, sometimes we need to hope,)" Kenny pointed out.

"Yeah, and I can hope that ice-cream will come out of my ass, but I don't shit hot fudge sundaes," Cartman sneered, pulling off his wool hat. He just felt so misplaced right now. He was used to having Butters hovering around, and making the other boy take part in his schemes and when he didn't have schemes, occasionally humiliating him. Now he didn't have anybody to take advantage of.

Stan, Kyle and Kenny went back to talking to Butters for a minute, before Stan finally made the loaded statement.

"You saved Butters' life when you brought him to the hospital, Cartman," he told the brunette, "That was... well, pretty selfless. And responsible. And the right thing to do."

"I know," Cartman looked a little like a peacock puffing itself up.

"What I'm saying is, it's not like you at all," Stan interrupted.

"Wait, what?" Cartman snapped out.

"(Yeah, why'd you do it?)" Kenny asked.

Cartman floundered for a moment. Then he caught himself, "Any decent person-"

"You're NOT a decent person, fatass!" Kyle snapped, "You can pull that bullshit around the grown-ups, and hell, maybe you can even lie to yourself, but we are not going to fall for it! We know you wouldn't put a shit's worth of effort into helping anybody if there wasn't something in it for you! So come straight out and say why you did it! Because if you don't, we'll find out when Butters wakes up!"

"How the HELL do you know that soft, yellow, dweeb is ever gonna wake up!" Cartman returned violently, his pudgy round face red with anger as he stood up sharply, "Suppose he just lies there with his empty little head in the clouds and lying there like he's dead forever?"

"And you care, why?" Stan asked him again. Cartman was trying to dodge the question.

"I don't care; why the fuck would I care?" Cartman spat, stamping towards the bed, "Look at you guys, fussing over him like a bunch of pussies; you act like he's important when there's a million chumps just like him in every city in the fucking world!"

"What do you-"

"He's nothing special! He's replaceable!" Cartman continued loudly, "Hell, I'll prove it; I'll find another one right now! So screw you guys, I'm going home!"

* * *

><p><em>There's something wrong... I feel like I'm underwater, but I can hear things. My stomach hurts like nothing I've ever felt before; I'm all twisted up and I wanna scream. But I can't make a sound. There's machines everywhere, and people; I can hear people, but they can't hear me, even though I'm shouting, shouting as loud as I can.<em>

_Oh jeepers... Somebody just took my hand. I grab it and hold it as tight as I can, but they're just touching me lightly. Then there's a shout; a familiar voice, and they let go._

_Don't let go, don't let go, oh hamburgers..._

_They're shouting, but they're not shouting at me. It's like I'm not in the room at all. They're shouting at each other, I'm shouting at them but they won't listen..._

_Eric? Don't go..._

_The water machine is coming again, and everything's going wrong... I was going to die. I wanted to die. I remember that much. It's all... fuzzy. Eric was there too... There was more... so much more... but it's all trying to hide, trying to make me forget my memories. Maybe that's a good thing..._

_They're saying I'm dead, I'm sure of it._

_I just want to show them I'm here. Get them to look... get out of the water. I can't speak, I can't make a noise or even grunt. I can't even swallow; the doctors came in with a tube and took out some of the spit in my mouth cus I couldn't swallow it. I focus every ounce of my strength into doing something, anything... anything to make them stay with me a little longer._

_Mom and Dad went. I don't want to be alone again._

_I don't want to die..._

_I..._

_Didn't know I cared..._

* * *

><p>Kenny watched Cartman leave the hospital room. He was on slightly better terms with Cartman than Stan or Kyle – although not that much better; he still acutely remembered dozens of times Cartman had been responsible in part for some of his agonising deaths and flat out being an asshole, and though he still knew better than to trust the fat boy on anything he did, he could also guess when something was seriously wrong. But then he looked back at Butters.<p>

Butters being comatose was the real problem, not Cartman throwing a bitch-fit.

"(Guys, I think he can hear us a bit…)" he spoke calmly.

"Huh?" Kyle turned to look at Butters. He still wasn't moving, "Are you sure, Kenny?"

"(No,)" Kenny admitted, "(But it feels like he can…)" Indeed, for half a second there he was almost sure he had felt Butters tense up.

"Butters?" Stan asked, "Are you in there?"

It was a whisper on the wind but it existed as a conscious movement, "…"

"What?" Kyle asked frantically, "Butters, we're gonna call your parents and-"

"_Fuck them_…" Butters slipped back into his unnatural sleep again, exhausted by the effort of speaking two little words.

The three boys looked at each other. Butters didn't want to see his parents. That wasn't really all that surprising; just like every other adult in South Park, they too were a couple of assholes. Sure, they hadn't killed anybody as a result of sheer stupidity or opened up the gates of Hell…

Well, so far as they knew, Kyle reminded himself.

Still, he knew he'd still want to see his parents. But then again he'd never actively tried to kill himself before, "Why'd you do it, Butters?" he asked, wondering if the smaller boy could even hear him.

There was no answer, no response at all, even when Kyle experimentally pinched him. It was like Butters had turned into a vacant space, and he wasn't even moving now. Kyle wondered what would happen if he didn't wake up again. Would they notice him gone? Yes, they probably would. It would be like somebody had just torn the sun out of the sky.

"Come on, Butters," Kyle mumbled, "Nobody wants you to just give up… you never did before. Besides… we wanna know what really happened…"

* * *

><p>NOTE: Yeah, I'm still dealing with stuff. Review, please? But yeah, I know what it feels like to seriously think about killing myself. And yet not do so, and the reason you don't do it, isn't because you've suddenly gotten a big dose of Joy to the ass, but because you suddenly don't dare to.<p> 


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